Born of Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 2) (13 page)

A Bromi woman, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Bullet holes decorated her translucent body. Beside her materialized two young men, perhaps a few years younger than Clark. The taller of the two wore a gray cap and a matching jacket, unbuttoned; a red line sliced across his throat. He’d been decapitated. The other, in a straw hat and overalls, had a jagged cut across his belly.

“Keep going,” said the Bromi woman. “They’ll come for you. They will.”

Lost again, trapped in that race that would never end. The dead had to comfort him when no one else could. His father hadn’t even shown up.

“Soon,” Clark said.

“I’ve never walked so much.” Zachariah sighed. It wasn’t quite a complaint, more like hopelessness.

One high-pitched whistle, fast. Clark stiffened, holding his breath as his heartbeat picked up speed; this could be it. A second whistle, slower, trailing off at the end as if the note could visibly hang in the air. He lifted one hand to make the others still while he stared ahead at the plains. The hills rolled, the sky dark, the trees off in the darkness, unable to move without a strong enough wind.

Clark whistled back a series of four, sharp and loud. Silence. He treasured that still. A deer moving across the prairie could make a rustle he would have to doubt. A prairie dog escaping a fox could scatter stones that might sound like a footstep. An owl might distract his senses.

A figure lifted off the plains. It could have been a rock or a stump, an animal carcass left to rot in the daytime sun.

The figure stepped closer without a sound. Someone sucked in a breath behind Clark—Zachariah, if he had to guess. As the figure drew closer, Clark made out unbound black hair and a dark robe, open in the front to reveal a pale shift. Feathers, woven into the straight hair, fluttered as though they were a winged beast of old fairy tales rather than a Bromi.

“Hello,” Clark said in Bromi. He parted his pointer and middle fingers, wiggling them in greeting. The gesture meant help, despair, the urge to rely completely on the other.

Behind him, that drawn breath again. Garth and Georgette would behave, Amethyst would know he wouldn’t let the Bromi harm them, but Zachariah… the army despised the Bromi. Despite his parents’ attitudes, he might have begun to think differently toward the western natives.

The Bromi halted close enough to Clark that their toes touched. She was a woman, with the long face and straight nose of her people, the broad forehead and high cheekbones. “Which are you?”

Others who fled from society sought refuge with the Bromi. The medicine man had given Clark his name, for he saw inside of him, a secret Clark hadn’t had to tell, but one he knew would be safe. “I am he who lives in death.”

“The one who flees and never waits.” In the night, he couldn’t tell her age, but she stood a foot shorter than his six feet in height. The Bromi were naturally taller than the white folk.

Clark had to trust the Treasures not to overreact. “I seek sanctuary.” In Bromi, that meant they couldn’t refuse him. It was a sacred term. Even an enemy could seek that protection, meaning that neither side could attack during the peacetime.

The Bromi nodded without losing contact with his gaze. She turned on her heels and marched to the south. Clark fell into step behind, never looking away from her back. He’d warned the Treasures to face forward as a sign of trust; they’d better do it, but as newcomers, the Bromi would be lenient.

He squeezed Amethyst’s hand, hoping she understood how much he would protect her.

From the ground, more Bromi rose, solidifying from the landscape. They held spears as tall as they were, or taller, and fell into step, creating a half-circle around them. Clark had seen it before. They welcomed them by making a shield.

Eric appeared at his side. “You’re a good boy, son. I’m proud of you.”

Clark glared forward. His father couldn’t be proud. Clark had ruined the Treasures.

he Bromi village nestled in a valley beside a stream. Lean-tos, teepees, and long houses covered in birch bark speckled the land, shadowed, without any light escaping. When they reached the outskirts, the female leader lifted her hand to Clark and shook her head.

“I will get our chief. You must wait here.”

Clark nodded. “Tell him I’ll do anything.”

She slipped into the darkness around the structures. The night warriors kept their half-circle around the group.

“They won’t kill us?” Zachariah’s question hung in the air, not so much nervous as resigned.

“I’ve asked them for sanctuary.” Clark kept his voice low. “They won’t hurt us.”

He’d missed the calmness of a Bromi village. Each person did his or her fair share of work, in exchange for a peaceful lifestyle. They hunted and gathered. Some tribes stayed a year in one place, so they farmed for extra food. Family units stayed in their homes with dogs or wolves as pets.

No one had to sell his or her body to survive.

When he’d first seen where they lived, he’d been confused. The structures, the people, all different. Then, he’d come to admire them.

The female returned with a man who carried a burning torch. He lifted it in salute to Clark. “He who lives in death. You have come to us?”

Clark knelt on one knee and bowed his head. “I seek sanctuary for myself and my family.”

“Who hunts you?” The man’s voice rasped. He had to be aged, although he moved with grace.

“The army.” News passed fast among the tribes, even those that warred against the other. They would already know the army sought him. “Now, they’ve tracked my family.”

“How long do you seek sanctuary?” The protocol question. They tested a man or woman based on the answer. Permanent sanctuary made a person seem weak. Quick sanctuary was preferred.

“I need to plan,” Clark admitted. While walking, he’d searched his mind, but could think of nothing. Each idea seemed too desperate. “My family must be safe.” The chief would find honor in that.

“Tomorrow, we meet. You will give the answer then.” The chief lowered the torch.

Clark had never allowed the Bromi to give him more than shelter or medicine, if he’d been hurt while fleeing. Now, he would have to rely more on them. “I thank you with what I am.” That which touches death.

The female led them to a long house. Beds were constructed into the wall, one atop the next, and covered in furs. An elderly Bromi woman crouched beside a fire pit, starting a flame amongst a pile of twigs. One of the warriors must’ve gone ahead to warn the family of the arrivals.

“These white faces seek sanctuary,” the female scout announced. “We will give them what we have. They will return thanks.”

A man climbed down from one the cots—the scout’s mate—and helped two little boys join the elderly woman. The children rubbed their eyes and yawned. The air stank of garlic and onions, a faint undertone of wood smoke.

The scout pointed to one of the cots. “This will be for the elder ones.”

“My parents.” Clark switched to the king’s tongue. “Garth, Georgette. She wants you to sleep there. No one will harm you.”

Garth rested his hand over Georgette’s shoulders while she twisted her fingers together.

“For the boy.” The scout waved at the cot above Garth and Georgette’s.

“Zachariah, that one’s for you,” Clark translated.

Zachariah stood stiff, still.

“The girl is with you?” the scout asked.

Clark glanced down at their interlocking fingers. Should he let her have her own cot? Would it raise too many questions? “My mate.” He needed to know she was next to him, that she didn’t do something foolish and slip out, or that she wasn’t able to sleep from fear.

“Then you will be here.” The scout pointed at the cot across the way. “In the morning, you will eat with us. You will help us until it is time for the meeting.”

“We will do all we can.” Clark kneeled for her again, a symbol of respect. Whatever the Bromi suggested, he would listen this time.

lark’s cheeks flamed, but he laughed to ease the moment. A Bromi girl knelt in the river at his feet, cupping his testicles, and batting her eyelashes.

“Such a big man,” she cooed. “Why have we never heard more about you?”

The Bromi woman scrubbing his back with sand to exfoliate the skin kicked water at the kneeling girl. “Behave. You haven’t heard because he doesn’t associate with the likes of you.”